


Lost and Found

by oxiosa



Series: Brarg Week 2019 [2]
Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: It’s been almost a month since their first date, and Martín doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. Luciana is fun and pretty, and she legitimately seems as happy as Martín is to have her by his side. He feels a little ridiculous, but he thinks he might be in love. It’s good. Almost too good.
Relationships: Argentina/Brazil (Hetalia)
Series: Brarg Week 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551520
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> The characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández  
> Fem!Brazil: Luciana.

Martín sits in the airport terminal by his own, sprawled in a uncomfortable waiting chair with his feet propped up on his suitcase. Music blast through his earphones as he is tipes at his phone, the little bright screen practically glued to his face. His backpack, an empty can of soda and a half eaten package of chips occupy the seat by his side.

He takes a little peak at the time, and suppresses an unimpress scoff.

His father is almost an hour late by now.

“Martín!”

His father makes his way through the airport. There is no hug, no warm welcoming, just a simple pat on his back.

“You look taller,” his father comments. “What has your mother been feeding you?”

It’s actually not true. Martín has had almost the same height for 4 years now, when he had an sudden -  _ awkward _ \- growth spurt at age 13. But Martín doesn’t comment on it - after all, this has been his father’s welcoming greeting every year for almost a decade.

He follows his dad through the airport, doesn’t really pay him much attention as he talks - mostly to himself, since Martín so very clearly is  _ not l _ istening. They walk out of the building, head for his dad’s car. They load Martín’s luggage, and hit the road.

Before Martín can slip his headphones back on, his father reaches to the back seats with a little  _ ‘Oh, gottcha something _ ’ and hands Martín a small white box.

“Happy belated birthday,” his father smiles.

Martín takes the gift. He opens it, and takes out a rather expensive sporty-looking watch. He has never in his life owned a watch, but he cannot say he is surprised by the gift.

“Thanks,” he says disheartenedly.

The ride home is long and quiet. Martín slips his headphones back on and watches boredly through the window the beautiful scenery they pass by. Past the green lush trees and under the burning sun, he can see in the distance the clean blue ocean.

Martín’s father owns a house outside town. His parents divorced when he was still a baby; Martín stayed with his mother in Argentina, their homeland, and his dad moved out to Brazil with his new wife Alonsa. Martín’s mother had tried to keep her family together despite the divorce, tried to keep Martín’s dad a living presence in her son’s life. Both their parents had agreed - mostly by Martín’s mother’s insistence - in an unconventional shared custody; Martín would spend his scholar year in Argentina with his mom, but would visit his father all the way up in Brazil during summer holidays.

It had been hard at first, when Martín had been young and naive, and had longed for a father. Nowadays, Martín is no kid anymore. He still  _ has _ to come visit his father by his mother’s demand, but he knows better. He can’t say he has a good relationship with his dad - in fact, he’s not sure he can say he has a relationship  _ at all _ . Even if he does spend at least three months a year sharing the same roof, he doesn’t get to see him much. His father is either busy working or pretending he has no son at all, and while that had hurt for some time, Martín has grown to come to terms with it. It just means he gets to be wherever he wants and do whatever he wants, as long as he doesn’t get in his father’s way. And that suits him fine.

As they finally reach their destination, Martín stares boredly at the familiar impressing sight of his father’s home. The house is far from modest, big and luxurious, a modern three floor structure with two garages, a private beach and it’s own private dock and yacht. Martín’s father has a wonder life here in Brazil with his Alonsa, and Martín can’t help to recent him a bit for that even now. After all, leaving his old life, divorcing his ex wife and practically abandoning his only son clearly were the best decisions of his life.

He follows his father inside, backpack in one shoulder while dragging his suitcase as his father unhelpfully walks in front of him. Martín looks around, and is not really impressed with all the new and unfamiliar decor. Alonsa tends to change the house’s style every year, and by now Martín is used to coming in and not recognizing a single piece of furniture.

“ _ Martinho! _ ” Rosa comes out of the kitchen, and gives him a big tight hug.

Rosa has worked for his father since he moved to Brazil. She’s in charge of keeping the house neat and clean, of going grocery and cooking - and, when Martín had been a kid, of looking after him as well. She’s an old round lady with dark skin, darker hair and bright brown eyes. At this point, she’s not an employee, not to Martín. She’s part of the family - perhaps the only he has here.

“My sweet boy, welcome home!” Rosa pulls back, cups his face and make him laugh as she showers his face with kisses. “How was your trip? Are you tired? Hungry? Go, go settle while I finish cooking lunch!”

Martín obeys her, and goes straight to his room. This place is the only room in the house that always survives through Alonsa’s yearly makeover. It has stayed the same, just like Martín left it last time he was here. Just like he had never left at all.

His room is big and full of light, just like the rest of the house. It’s at least twice the size of his room back in Argentina. It has its own couch and TV, a console that he doesn't use - it was a Christmas gift from his dad, but Martín can’t say he’s into video games - and a double size bed. The room is clean and the air is clear. It also is void of life. No one has entered here for months, except most likely Rosa to keep it clean for him.

Martín drops his bag to the floor and leaves his luggage by the door without much care. He drops himself on the bed, and pulls his phone out and calls his mother.

As he waits for her to pick up, he hears two sets of crazy wild high-pitched barking before two golden fur balls dash into his room and jump on his bed, straight into him. Martín lets out a little breathless chuckle as Genoveva and Giovanna climb over him wagging their tails like crazy.

“Hello, girls,” he greets the two very excited wiggling Pomeranians standing over his chest. “Miss me much, uh?”

He laughs when both dogs crowd over him and lick his face.

“Ok, ok, enough kisses…” he chuckles, tries to settle them down.

They ignore him, try to get past his hands to shove their noses into his face, and he has to laugh again.

“Martín?” his mother’s voice calls for his attention on the phone.

Martín sits up, and tries to calm Genoveva and Giovanna down with pets and cuddles.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby,” his mother says. “How was the flight?”

“Ok,” he answers. He's used to it by now, after all these years. He frowns however, and adds; “Dad was late to the airport.”

“I know, baby. He’s like that, you know that,” she replies, patient beyond what Martín’s father really deserves. “Please, try. Be a good boy for me?”

Martín pouts down at the two tiny dogs in his lap.

“Promise me you’ll try, baby,” his mother insists.

Mart´n has stopped trying a long time ago, but his mother doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” he mutters begrudgingly. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy,” he can hear her proud smile in her voice. “Love you, honey. Gotta go. Oh, Fernando says hi.”

He likes his mom’s new husband much better than his dad. Fernando _ cares _ , for a start.

“Bye, mom,” he says. “Tell Fernando I say hi too.”

It’s a brief call, mostly because she made him promise to call when he got there. Martín drops back into the bed, stares at the ceiling as he absently pets Genoveva and Giovanna’s soft fur.

He gets out of bed only when he starts to feel hungry. He takes a quick shower to shake the feeling of the airport and the plane off himself, and fetches some clothes from his suitcase without bothering to unpack. Genoveva and Giovanna stick to his heels panting quietly with their tongues hanging out as Martín leaves the room.

He goes out to go fetch some snacks from the kitchen, and the smell of Rosa’s cooking waters hits him. He takes a deep breath, and lets out a dreamy sigh.

“You’re the best, Rosa,” he whispers.

“I know, baby,” Rosa answers knowingly, standing by the kitchen while stirring the  _ feijoada _ .

Martín climbs one of the kitchen’s island counter stools, and Genoveva and Giovanna sit at his feet. Martín reaches out for the freshly baked  _ p _ _ ã _ _ o de queijo  _ Rosa has left cooling off in a tray.

Rosa might as well have eyes on the back of her head; she turns and swats his hand away with her wooden spoon quick as a snake.

“No snacking before lunch,” she scolds.

“Rosa…” Martín whines. He slumps over the island’s counter and gives her his best puppy eyed look. “ _ Rosita… _ ”

Rosa rolls her eyes at him, mutters a prayer to whoever is listening above, and passes him one bun before taking the tray away for good.

“Don’t stuff yourself,” she warns, turns her attention back to her steaming pot. “Lunch is almost done.”

“That’s why you’re my favourite around, Rosa,” Martín bites the little cheesy bun.

He’s dropping little chunks of the bread to the floor and watching Genoveva and Giovanna jump to catch them mid air, when he hears a familiar clacking of heels coming down the corridor.

“Rosa!” Alonsa calls as she comes into the kitchen. “Rosa!”

Alonsa is Martín’s father’s wife. She’s a small chubby woman, vain and loud. It’s no secret Alonsa doesn’t like Martín, who doesn’t fit in the perfect picture of the happy life she has built here with her husband. Martín couldn’t care less about her; the dislike between them is mutual and poorly hidden.

They stare at each other, and it feels a little like a western movie’s showdown.

Genoveva and Giovanna are the ones who break the tension. They run and bark up at Alonsa, wagging their tails like crazy and jumping at her feet. They only stop barking when Alonsa picks them up like the spoiled lap dogs that they both are.

“Welcome home,  _ Martinho _ ,” Alonsa smiles at him. It does not reach her eyes - it never does. “How was your flight?”

“Good,” Martín answers, unnecessary blunt. Rosa gives him a stern look from across the kitchen, and he adds; “Thanks.”

“That’s great!” Alonsa says. She turns to Rosa then, now that she is done with the minimum interaction required to acknowledge Martín’s presence, and asks; “Rosa, dear, did you prepare everything I asked for?”

“Sure did, Mrs. Alonsa,” Rosa answers with a nod of her head. “Mr. Sergio and I already took it to the yacht.”

“Ah, great. Thank you, Rosa, you’re an angel,” she says with an exaggerated relieved sigh. She turns around, and heads for the door. “We’ll be sailing off soon, but we’ll be back for dinner.”

She leaves, but still can be heard from the kitchen as she walks away baby-talking to her dogs between kissy noises.

“Wanna come with mommy and daddy? Oh, you do, yes you do...”

Martín huffs, squints at the door.

“Witch,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Manners,  _ Martinho _ ,” Rosa scolds.

Martín huffs again. He softens a little when Rosa places two plates with her _ feijoada _ , rice, orange slices and  _ farofa _ and  _ p _ _ ã _ _ o de queijo.  _

“You spoil me, Rosa,” Martín lets out a dreamy sigh.

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” she answer. She takes a sit by his side in front of one of the plates, and gently nudges him. “Now, eat. I also have dessert in the fridge.”

They have lunch together like the old times, and despite her complains, Martín helps Rosa with the dishes. When all is clean and in their rightful place, Martín leaves Rosa to her work and takes the bus to town. It’s a bit of a long ride, which is why he usually spends most of the day in town, and only rides back home late in the night to drop on his bed - or early in the morning, if the night has been that good.

He arrives to town, and for the first time since he stepped out of the plane, he feels something akin to ease. No neglecting father, no disdainful step mother. He is basically a local here, has spend almost every summer of his life in this town and knows the place as well as he knows his hometown back in Argentina.

He heads straight to the beach, to a smoothie stand where a small group is already waiting for him.

“Finally!” Bruno laughs at the sight at Martín jogging to them.

“Long time no see!” Lara smiles up at him from Bruno’s side.

“You’re late!” Marcia cries, outraged. “We said to meet fifteen minutes ago!”

“Where have you been?” David asks, as impatient as Marcia herself.

Martín has know Marcia, Bruno and David for a couple of years now. Bruno’s family owns a big old company in town, Marcia’s father is CEO in an international firm, and David’s family owns at least half of Brazil’s economies business. Lara is Bruno’s girlfriend - they have been dating for a year and a half now - and she’s the newest addition to their group. They all don’t have much in common, except an economic privileged background, lack of parental control and that their families own properties around town and spend summer breaks here.

“Was busy,” Martín answers, shrugs.

“Busy?” Bruno chuckles. “It’s summer break, dude.”

“Enough talk,” Marcia rolls her eyes impatiently. “Martín’s finally here, let’s go to the beach already. He looks so pale he’s hurting my eyes.”

They all laugh, tease and push like they haven’t seen each other for less than a day. They walk down the street towards the beach and the sea, and Martín thinks it looks like it’s going to be just another summer break.

The thought makes his smile falter and something inside his chest ache.

Martín wakes up late. Genoveva and Giovanna snore at his feet, two spots of heat tangled between his legs. He groans, tries to go back to sleep, and fails; there’s too much sunlight coming through the windows. He curses quietly at himself. He should had remembered to close the window curtains last night.

He gets up, and heads for the kitchen. It’s already past lunch time - which might explain why he’s feeling so hungry - and there must be leftovers from lunch for him to snack on, or maybe if he’s lucky he can get Rosa to cook something for him.

He steps into the kitchen and to his surprise finds it filled with piles and piles of white boxes. Curiosity wins him over, and he carefully takes one and opens. Unsurprisingly considering they are in the kitchen, there’s food in them. Appetizers, to be more specific. He takes a small salmon canapé, and shoves it into his mouth before closing the box and leaving it exactly where he found - just as Rosa comes in.

“Good afternoon, sleepy head,” she greets him.

“‘Aftertoon,” Martín mumbles, still a little too sleepy to make sense of the crowded kitchen. He looks at the boxes, then at Rosa. “What’s all these?”

Rosa stops in her tracks, turns to frown at Martín. 

“Didn’t Mr. Sergio tell you?” Rosa asks. “He’ll be throwing a party tonight.”

Martín groans.

“No, dad forgot to mention it,” he grunts in annoyance.

“Ah, that man…” Rosa shakes her head. She takes a look at Martín, and says. “You should probably go change into something a little more formal, love.”

“I’m not planning on staying for dad’s stupid party,” Martín replies with a pout, taking his phone out already thinking of some plan for the night.

Rosa comes to his side, cups his face with a rough wide hand. There’s a little frown on her brow, and her eyes are heavy with worry.

“Maybe you should, this one time,” she says.

She caresses his cheek with her thumb, sweet and motherly, and tries to give him a reassuring smile before she is gone back to sorting the boxes. Martín stares at her with wide eyes, a little at a loss of words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands. “What’s different about tonight?”

“Ah, I can’t spoil Mr. Sergio’s surprise,” Rosa answers, shakes her head.

Martín frowns, and in a rather childish gesture, leaves the kitchen stomping his feet. He can’t help to feel a little bit cheated. Rosa has never keep any secrets from him.

He considers hitting town tonight, just to prove a point; he doesn’t care about his father’s businesses. He ends up deciding against it, Rosa’s cryptid words burnt in his mind. So he showers and puts on clean clothes, and by the time he is out of his room, some guest have already arrived.

“Ah, good to see you’re ready,” his father smiles at Martín when he sees him.

He has dressed up, with a nice shirt and dress pants. He already has a glass of whine in his hand, and Martín has to keep from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, tries to appear uninterested. “Thought I might hang around tonight.”

“Excellent! Great to hear!” his father smiles, pats his shoulder and is off to greet another new guest.

Martín sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

He spends most of the party hanging in the kitchen, watching Rosa work. She shoos him away, insists he joins the party, but there is not much for Martin to enjoy. There is not a single person his age around. All his father’s friends are twice his age, and the children around are way too young for Martín to even consider hanging around; the oldest kid in the party is not older than 10.

No one pays him attention - except one of Alonsa’s friends, who disturbingly enough Martín is sure tried to make a pass on him. There’s a good thing however of no one paying him attention, and that is that even if he is underage, he gets to drink. He might as well be invisible; no one spares him a second glance as he takes a glass of champagne here and there, and as long as he stays away from Rosa’s sight, he’s safe to ingest as much alcohol as he pleases.

He’s starting to suspect Rosa has tricked him into staying to one of his dad’s party and spend some sort of quality time with him, when his father interrupts the chatter across the room, clearing his throat loud and clear to attract all eyes on himself.

“I’d like to make a toast,” his dad announces. “To my beautiful wife, Alonsa. I’ve always said she’s the best thing that happened to me, ever. She’s my light and all, the woman I love and the most important person in my life.”

Martín knows all of this. Has known for years. It still stings, just a little, to hear it from his father’s very mouth.

“I thought it impossible for my Alonsa to make me any happier, but she keeps surprising me,” he continues, and Martín can feel the world slowly shifting around him. “I’d gathered you all my friends here tonight to announce Alonsa and I are expecting a baby!”

The room explodes in applause and cheers, and Martín stands among an effusive crowd trying to understand what he just heard, because it certainly doesn’t make any sense.

His father can’t be having a child. He can’t be having another kid when he doesn’t _ love or care about the one he already has. _

His feet take him away before he fully comprehends what he’s doing. He runs out of the party, runs out of the house. His feet take him to the beach, and he runs to the dock, stomps the wooden floor until he reaches its end. He clings to the railing, stares at the dark endless horizon for there is nowhere else to go, his breathing coming hard and fast.

Martín rips the watch his father gave him out, and with a furious cry of war, he throws it as far as he can into the dark ocean. It disappears with a quiet splash far away, and it feels much less satisfying than what Martín was expecting. He grits his teeth and closes his hands around the railing until his knuckles go white, and tries to keep the sob stuck in his throat down.

It was easy to ignore the ache in his chest when he thought his dad didn’t want children, and it was just not personal.

“Are you ok?”

He startles, turns around with his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

A girl about his age shyly stares at him from across the dock. He doesn’t remember seeing her in the party, and he thinks he would have. She’s too pretty for Martín to have missed her in the crowd. She wears an ugly frilly dress that seems a little familiar and falls a little too big for her, and most curiously, she is soaked wet, her wild dark curls and sun kissed brown skin dripping water like she has just came out from a night swim.

She looks at him with knowing sad dark eyes, and Martín is quick to clean the unshed tear of his eyes and turn around.

“This is private property,” he snaps at her.

Normally he wouldn’t be so rude to a cute girl, but he wants her gone before the redness in his eyes or his hoarse voice gives him away. But she doesn’t cower back. Instead, she walks to him, and takes a seat on the dock railing right by his side. She doesn’t say anything, and for a long time they stay like that in silence. Martín can feel himself slowly losing his stand, as his eyes fill with tears and his shoulders shake. He breaks into an ugly sob, drops to the wooden floor. He hugs his legs and hides his face on his knees, quietly willing this girl away as sorrow and shame feel him.

Not only she doesn’t leave, but she jumps down the railing and sits by his side. She presses close to him, rests her head on his shaking shoulder, but again she remains quiet. It’s only when Martín has run out of tears that she speaks again.

“It’s gonna be ok, don’t worry,” she whispers sweetly at him. “I promise.”

Martín sniffs and nods his head against his knees, mostly because he can’t muster the energy to argue that  _ no, it’s not going to be ok. _ He’s not sure he would be able to find his voice anyways.

He can feel her leave his side and stand up, hears her cleans the sand off her dress.

“Here,” she says. “You should be more careful next time.”

Martín takes a deep breath, and looks up. In front of him lies his watch, soaked wet into the hard wooden floor. The girl however is nowhere to be seen, like she just magically disappeared into thin air.

Martín can’t bring himself to find it strange, nor to care. He drops his head back into his knees, and hugs his legs closer to his chest. Hours later, Rosa comes for him, guides him inside, strips him for his cold salty clothes and tucks him to bed, just like she used to do when he still was a small child.

The girl from the dock might as well had been a dream. Came and gone without a trace, and certainly did look the part.The party is a blurry with alcohol and shock for Martín so she might have been a little trick of his mind.

Except he did remember throwing his dad’s watch to the sea, and he still has said watch in his possession.

She proves to be real when he sees her again at the town’s beach.

She is wearing a pareu tied around her body as a dress, sits by a handsome boy’s side giggling and smiling as he pulls her closer with the smirk of a man who’s won the lottery. She doesn’t see Martín back,  _ definitely _ not because he hid from her like a damn coward.

Next time he sees her she’s with some other guy, and he soon learns to get used to it. She seems to get cosy with boys quickly just to leave them as easy. He doesn’t think he has seen her with the same guy twice in a row.

Martín has no reason to feel jealous. It’s not like she has given him any reason - he doesn’t even know this girl’s  _ name _ \- and it’s not like he didn’t have his fair share of short-lived summer romances. And yet, it irks him to see her clinging to the arm of some other boy. Itches him in a place he can’t scratch, that he didn’t even know existed.

She only catches Martín staring at her once. Her eyes go a little wide with recognition, and she gives him a little smile and a wave. Martín tries to blame the blush rushing to his face to the burning sun.

“Ask her out.”

Martín looks away from the girl and her new date. He turns to Marcia, who is staring at him with a bored unimpressed expression.

“Ask who out?” he asks a little weakly.

Marcia huffs and rolls his eyes at him.

“The girl you keep staring at?” she replies with little patience. “She’s pretty. Ask her out already.”

“She seems to like you too,” Lara ads kindly with a little encouraging smile.

“Yeah, well,” Martín shrugs. “She’s busy at the moment.”

“She’s always busy,” David snorts.

Martín can’t help to be a little startled, but he guess he should have known better. David is the worst gossip, and kind of a creep when it comes to girls.

“You know her?” Martín asks.

“Not personally, but she’s kinda building a reputation,” David says. “She discards boys like used toothpicks. I don’t think she’d care much to trade that loser for you.”

Now it is Martín’s turn to snort.

“Oh, so you want me to be just another guy for her to dump?”

“I don’t know, do  _ you _ think you’ll be just another guy for he to dump?” Marcia snarks back.

The rest of the gang echoes loud outraged  _ ‘ooohhh’ _ and exchange looks of surprised amusement. Martín tilts his chin up, unable to back down from what so clearly sounds like a challenge.

“No,” he declares proudly. “I don’t.”

He stands up, and gets cheered as he makes his way towards this girl.

“Go get her, tiger!” Bruno screams after him.

And so Martín does. The closer he gets, the less confident he starts to feel about this. It is not like he doesn’t want to talk to her. It just feels a little weird. Weird that Martín is not sure she is the girl he thinks she might be. Weird that if she _ is _ the girl from the dock - and Martín is so certain she is -, Martín’s first impression must have been a little sad and pathetic. Weird that he hopes it’s  _ not _ her, but that he also does hope it  _ is _ her at the same time.

He doesn’t get much more time to think about it. He is already on his way, and her date has left her side. She stands on her own in the shade of a palm tree, waiting for her date to bring her a drink, leaving the perfect opening for Martín. If he wants to make move, it is now.

“Hello,” he greets, smiles at her.

“Hi,” she replies.

She smiles back at him, eyes him a little curious, which Martín takes as a good sign - he trusts his looks. If she remembers him - if she _ is _ the girl from the dock -, she hides it well. It eases Martín into convincing himself she certainly is not this girl he clearly made up, helps him gain a little of his usual confidence back.

“New in town?” he asks.

“Yes,” she nods. “I haven’t visited before.”

“Hope you like the town. It’s really beautiful around, really fun too,” Martín comments.

She presses her lips together, lets out a little hum.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen much around yet,” she confesses.

“No?” Martín raises his eyebrows in surprise, seizes his opportunity. “Me and friends over there know town like the back of our hands. Would you like to join us?”

She looks back at the boy getting her a drink, then back at Martín. She seems to deliver for a moment, longer than Martín would have expected. But she nods, gives him a coquette smile and jumps off her sit.

“Sure, why not?” she says,

It is an easy win, but Martín is not used to less.

“My name’s Martín,” he introduces himself.

“They call me Luciana,” she answers.

Luciana lets Martín guide her away, and they join the rest of the gang to spend the day lazing around in the beach.

Marcia spends most of the day sunbathing with David not so very discreetly ogling her from the shade. Bruno and Martín play beach football, and soon Lara and Luciana join them. They make 2 little teams of 2 players, with Bruno and Lara in one team and Martín and Luciana in the other. It’s a close match, but Martín and Luciana win, Luciana being the one who scores the winning goal. Martín runs to her, lifts her in his arms as she laughs and screams. Bruno, taller and bulkier, drags Martín to the water and dunks him unceremoniously. They wrestle a little in a boyish outlet of pent up energy, but Martín is quick to retreat back to land when Lara joins them in the water and Bruno scops her up and kisses her.

Luciana, who has stayed aside and watches from the shore, doesn’t go farther than letting the water reach her ankles.

“Not a fan of water, uh?” Martin mutters when he reaches her.

“I like land a lot better,” she confesses.

They take shelter under the shade of a parasol and rest. Bruno and Lara nap cuddled together despite the heat. Martín offers to fetch some popsicles, and Luciana joins him. They go side by side, and when Martín curls an arm around her shoulders and brings her close, she leans her body against his and curls an arm of her own around his waist. It only takes this little moment of intimacy away from the the rest of the gang for a kiss to happen. It feels only natural, like some sort of gravitational pull, for Martín to reach down for her and for her to reach up to him. It’s a soft tentative kiss, a peck, one that lingers on Martín’s lips when they pull away and leaves him craving for more of that.

They get the popsicles and head back, sit side by side while they munch of sugary fruity ice. Their shared giddy smiles don’t go past Marcia and David. They get knowing looks, and one or two lewd comments Martín brushes off and pretends he didn’t hear.

The day finally comes to an end, the sun slowly sinking on the horizon. Lara is talking about a movie she wants to see, and they are already making plans for dinner when Luciana announces she has to leave.

The gang is not surprised. They give Martín knowing glances, David quietly mouthes an amused  _ ‘Told you so’ _ behind Luciana’s back.

But Martín is having none of that.

“You guys go ahead,” he says. “I’ll catch up real soon.”

He gets funny looks, but they obey him and leave him alone with Luciana, who is giving him a careful cautious look.

“I really can’t go,” she says.

“I know. It’s ok,” Martín replies. “I was actually thinking about tomorrow lunch. You know Rogelio’s place? It’s right by the beach, has really good food.”

Luciana hesitates, and it’s the first time in the day that she drops her smile. She stares into his eyes, searching. Martín is not sure what she is looking for, but he doesn’t cower back. He holds her stare, open for inspection.

“Ok,” she accepts after a moment, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Luciana nods. She still hasn’t smiled back at him, and keeps watching him almost cautiously. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

Martín smiles.

“Great,” he says, feels a little lightheaded and drunk with what he counts as a rotund triumph. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He kisses her cheek, gives her a crooked smile and runs back to the gang. He ignores their screams and giggles, and they leave Luciana behind as they head for the movies.

“She’s not going to show up,” David says. “You know that, right?”

“We’ll see,” Martín replies.

He hopes she does. If he is being honest, it will break his heart a little if she doesn’t. It’s only been a day, but Martín already feels a little hooked

Luciana does show up. She wears the same dress as yesterday and her hair is tied in a messy braid, one single red flower stringed over her ear. She smiles when she spots Martín, but there’s a lingering awkwardness to her that was not there yesterday. Martín doesn’t comment on it, nor does he push her. Second dates are hard, and if what David has said about her is true, she doesn’t have much experience on those.

He buys them lunch, sit together in a tiny table under a palm tree by the beach and he makes most of the talking. Eventually, Luciana loosens herself and opens up, joins him and soon they find themselves laughing to tears like they have known each other for years.

She takes his hands in hers, and Martín skeezes back with a smile.

“Thanks,” she says. “This is fun.”

“My pleasure,” Martín says, and he truly means it. “Wanna join the rest on the beach? They’ve been pestering me with messages all morning.”

She smiles, bright and eager.

“Yes, I do,” she whispers, and surprisingly enough she sounds rather giddy.

Martín pays for the food, and still hand in hand, they leave.

The gang is surprised when they see them coming to meet together. No one comments on it, but Martín does catch David quietly and begrudgingly slipping money to a very smug Lara.

The gang takes Luciana in rather good, and fairly quick. Lara takes her under her wing right away, becoming almost mother-like when the others tease or bother her. Marcia is a harder bone to pick; she’s not exactly nice, but to be fair she is not nice to anyone. David Martín keeps an eye on; he is perhaps a little too nice with Luciana to be just good intentions. And Bruno, well, is Bruno. He doesn’t care much.

It’s been almost a month since their first date, and Martín doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. Luciana is fun and pretty, and she legitimately seems as happy as Martín is to have her by his side. He feels a little ridiculous, but he thinks he might be in love. It’s good.

Almost too good.

It’s another day in the beach, and they all lie together like lazy sleepy seals in the shade. They don’t usually just  _ lay _ in the beach - well, Marcia and David do, but the rest usually tries to find something to do and keep themselves entertained, but today is not the case. But the sun burns unforgiving up in the sky, and it is too hot to even try to think, let alone move.

“Anyone feels like having some popsicles?” Lara asks.

They all groan, because yes, they would very much like anything to keep this heat at bay.

Lara stands, shakes the sand of herself, and looks at the bunch of them.

“Anyone coming with me?” she asks.

This time, no one answers.

“I’ll go,” Luciana says.

She turns around to give Martín a little peck on the lips, and then she stands and follows after Lara.

“Be right back!” she says.

When the both of them are gone, Marcia lets out a snort.

“She’s so weird,” she mumbles.

Martín is completely taken back by her words. He turns to her, eyes wide.

“What?” he asks.

“Your girlfriend,” Marcia replies, shakes her head with a little smirk that irks Martín. “She’s such a weirdo.”

“She’s not,” Martín frowns at her.

“You’d noticed if you’d get over your dick,” Marcia sneers. “Even David agrees, and he wants to get it on with her as much as you do.”

“Yeah,” David agrees without an ounce of shame. “She’s kinda weird. Hot, but weird.”

Martín stares at them both like they have just grown a second head, with a mix of confusion and horror.

“What are you even talking about?”

“What do you mean what are we talking about?” Marcia laughs. “Come on, she’s such a child sometimes!”

“She doesn’t own a phone,” David points out.

“Yeah, and she goes all Cinderella at night,” Marcia ads. “Like she’s got more important things to do when we know she doesn’t have any friends.”

“Yeah. No friends, no family,” David shrugs. “What’s up with that?”

“And the tacky clothes she always wears,” Marcia laughs, cold and cruel. “Like she’s a hobo or something.”

David joins her laughter, and Martín can feel burning anger building up and choking him down.

“Hey, how about you all shut the fuck up?” he snaps.

“We’re just saying, dude,” Bruno shrugs. “She _ is _ kinda weird.”

“Pretty fucking weird, I’d say,” Marcia mutters. She gasps, lets out a giggly exclamation. “Oh, hi! Didn’t see you girls there!”

Martín feels the air leave his lungs. He turns, and to his horror Luciana and Lara stand with a bunch of popsicles in their hands. Lara is glaring daggers at everyone, but Martín only has eyes for Luciana. She is looking at them with wide hurt eyes and a horrified expression in her face.

She stands there for a moment. Then, she drops the popsicles on the sand and runs off without a word.

“You’re fucking assholes,” Martín spits and stands to go after her. “Luciana! Hey, Luciana, wait!”

Luciana ignores his call. She escapes, sorts tourist in her race to get away of them. Martín follows, and can’t help to feel a little alarmed when he sees her run straight into the sea.

He hasn’t seen her willingly go into the water before.

“Luciana, wait!” he chases after her.

She’s half way in the water when he finally catches her. He grabs her arm, tries to stop her from venturing any further, but she yanks it away. He desperately tries to take a hold of her, sinks his hands in her pareu, but she slips away. She dives into the water, and then she is gone. All what’s left of her is her pareu, a bundle of wet cloth between Martín’s hands.

Martín stares around wide eyed, worried she might have gone under the waves. He dives, looks around, breaks the surface and scans his surroundings. Martín frowns to himself, tries to make sense of it, but there is none.

Luciana has mysteriously vanished, melted into the ocean like she was never there to begin with.

Martín doesn’t see Luciana the next day, nor the following. It is like she packed and left town.

He’s not sure what to do about it. It’s not like he knows where she lives or he has some form to contact her. She might as well not have existed at all.

The idea comes to him by the third day. It’s a little childish, he thinks, a little silly. But it is all he has left now, as stupid as it is the more he thinks about it.

He takes Luciana’s pareu, and that night he goes outside to the dock where they first met - because he is sure now, it was her without a doubt. He doesn’t know how, for it doesn’t make any  _ sense  _ at all, but he knows.

So he he sits by the end of the dock, leaves his legs hanging out over the dark ocean, and wraps Luciana’s pareu tightly around his shoulder as a blanket. Then he waits, starting into the darkness with the sound of softly crashing waves bellow him as his only company. He waits for hours and hours, and hours...

“Martín...”

Martín startles awake. He hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep. He looks around a little lost, and then remembers where he is. He feels rather cold here at the mercy of the sea and the wind without any shelter. There’s a gentle warm hand on his shoulder He looks up, and there she is; Luciana, kneeling by his side wearing her pareu and frowning down at him.

“What are you doing?” she demands quietly.

“I was waiting for you,” he answers.

Luciana purses her lips, her glare hard and disapproving.

“In the middle of the night?” she asks. “What made you think I’d come here of all places, Martín?”

“But you are here,” he points out.

She goes quiet, frowns at him with a little pout. When she doesn’t say anything, Martín reaches out and takes her hand in his. They feel warm against his cold fingers, and only now he realises Luciana is dripping wet, just like the first time they met.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” she replies.

She looks down, and her frown deepens.

“They are right,” she admits, quietly.

Martín doesn’t argue with her. Marcia and the rest were right. They were cruel and mean, but they had a point; there is something odd about Luciana, and he had been blinded not to notice either. But now he does see it, and wants to understand.

“I need to tell you something,” she whispers.

Martín waits, as Luciana bites her lip, a little lost in her thought.

“I…” she hesitates, frowns to herself. “Perhaps it’s easier to show you.”

“Ok,” he agrees.

Martín watches as she reaches to her back, unties her pareu and lets it fall off her. She then lies bare to him, gloriously naked under the soft moonlight.

Martín’s mind goes completely blank at the sight of her, and suddenly he is wide awake. He can feel his face and belly burn, and can’t help to plainly stare, taking in every inch and curve of inviting bare skin. Luciana, completely unabashed of her nakedness, gently cups his face and guides his eyes up to meet hers. She leans forward, and joins their lips in a tender kiss.

Martín kisses her back. He carefully wraps her around his arms, and pulls her close. His open palms trace her back, relishing in the feeling of his fingertips trailing over soft warm naked skin. She presses a little closer, deepens the kiss, Encouraged, Martín tentatively pushes a hand further up and slides it until it cups one of Luciano’s breasts. She lets out a soft pleased sigh against his lips, and Martín almost  _ moans  _ at the feeling of round soft flesh. He gives a little squeeze and runs his thumb over one hard perked nipple. Luciana sighs again, but takes Matín’s hand away from her breast, guides it to her sternum. There, Martín can feel her heart beating hard and strong beneath his open palm.

She pulls away, still keeping his hand grounded over her beating heart, and looks up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” she asks in a weak whisper.

Martín obeys - he is so drunk of her that if right now Luciana asked him to jump to the dark water below them he doesn’t think he would argue with her. He casts his eyes down to her body, and his mind, stripped of sleep and lust by sudden shock, stops dead in its tracks trying to process what he is seeing.

He blinks one, twices, at the long elegant fish tail that curls on the wooden dock floor where Luciana’s legs should be. Her scales are impossible shiny, catching all sort of colors under the soft moon light - yellow, orange, pink, blue, green, purple and more.

It seemed impossible, but she makes a more striking breathless sight now.

“Is this real?” Martín asks when he finally finds his voice.

He might as well be dreaming, still asleep waiting for Luciana.

Luciana leans forward and kisses him again, just a tender loving peck on his lips. She guides the hand that she holds against her heart down until Martín’s open palm reaches the scales of her tail. Martín stares in wonder, traces and explores them dedicatedly feeling the soft smooth texture under his fingertips.

He couldn’t have imagined this even if he tried.

Luciana suddenly twitches in a little spams under his fingers, and Martín instantly takes his hand away.

“Sorry!” he blurts out.

“It’s ok,” she says. She looks down a little embarrassed, and ads; “It just tickles.”

Martin lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says again.

Luciana hums back. She doesn’t meet Martín’s eyes for a moment, before she looks up with a serious worried expression.

“Do you mind?” she asks.

“I… don’t think I do,” Martín answers. He remains quiet for a moment, and then he confesses with utter honesty; “I’m glad you showed me.”

The corner of Luciana’s lips curve up, just barely, and a little hopeful glint lights up her dark eyes.

“You are?” she asks, doesn’t seem to realise she is scooting a little closer. “I think I’m too. If you are.”

Martín can’t help to laugh at that, and Luciana smiles wide and bright at the sound of his laughter. He curls an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. She snuggles up to his side, rests her head on his shoulder with a content sigh, and Martín can’t help to kiss the wet curls on the crown of her head.

“It  _ was _ you then, wasn’t it?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. “That night?”

Luciana simply nods her head.

“Why?” he asks.

He doesn’t understand why she bothered. What made Luciana go out of her way to comfort a random crying teenager she didn’t even know.

Luciana looks down, hides behind her long dark eyelashes.

“You looked lonely,” she finally answers. Quietly, she admits. “I know how that feels like.”

It must be hard making friends when you have a secret like Luciana’s, Martín thinks with sudden realisation. It must be even harder to go around life pushing people who get to close away, living without truly having someone to love and care.

“Well, I don’t think I feel so lonely anymore,” he replies.

She looks up, and a sad smile curves her lips.

“No,” she agrees. “Me neither.”

They kiss again, gentle and sweet. Martín shudders, and Luciana pulls apart.

“You should go inside,” she says, gently runs her thumb over Martín’s cold cheek.

“Come with me?” he asks.

Luciana seems a little surprised by the request, but nods with a shy smile curving the corner of her lips. Martín stands and makes a point of looking away as he offers his hand to help Luciana up. He doesn’t turn until she stands human and fully dressed in her pareu again. He takes her hand, and they walk down the dock together.

“I’m definitely taking you shopping tomorrow,” he says. “‘Cause knowing you’ve been half naked this whole time is  _ killing _ me right now.”

Luciana laughs, pulls him down for a kiss

“I think I’d like that,” she teases with an amused grin.

Martín smirks down at her, and kisses her smug face again.

“I think I’d like that too,” he agrees.

At this point, after finding out she is a half fish creature that shouldn’t even exist, he thinks he’d like whatever Luciana throws his way.

**Author's Note:**

> ☑ Brarg Week - Day 2; Mermaids


End file.
